“Whoa,” a new voice cuts in, putting an arm around Dylan’s shoulder. I’d recognize Ian Wells from anywhere. He’s the singer of their band, his appearance less demanding than Dylan’s, but still easy on the eyes.
“Don’t waste your time,” Dylan snips, shrugging Ian’s arm off him and standing up. His piercing eyes lock with mine. “This one’s ice cold.”
My lips twitch and fists clench tight at my sides. He obviously doesn’t get rejected often, and isn’t handling it very well.
“And you want people to believe you’re not an asshole?” I laugh at the ridiculous thought after his outburst.
He rolls his eyes. “Clearly you’ve got a few issues yourself, princess. Careful not to fall off that pedestal you’re sitting so high up on.”
Ian squeezes Dylan’s shoulder. “Dude, come on. Do you really want to talk to her like that? She’s—”
“Just leaving,” I cut him off, gripping my bag so tightly my knuckles are white.
The recognition in Ian’s eyes is mixed with the sympathy for his friend’s behavior, but I don’t let him tell Dylan who I am. It wouldn’t change how he acts anyway.
“Good riddance,” Dylan calls as I walk away from them.
The last thing I hear is the music thumping in the main club area as I walk outside, and I decide one thing.
Today can go to hell, just like Dylan Hilton.
Dylan
The draft raking over my body stirs me from my sleep, causing me to crack my eyes open to naked curves and perky breasts lying next to me. Scoping out the blonde beauty makes me smile to myself as memories from last night come back in pieces.
The sight makes something else on me stir awake, cock twitching at the inviting flesh only inches away. I’m pretty sure the bombshell’s name is Rachel, but there was another blonde I danced with most of the night that makes my memory fuzzy. Or maybe it’s the amount of alcohol I consumed and pills downed with the group I chilled with that was making everything muffled.
The knock on the door causes what I do remember to fade, and the woman next to me groans and covers herself with the blanket, hiding what I wanted nothing more than to be reacquainted with.
I sit up, stretching, feeling the burn of my hangover ringing throughout my body.
Looking down at the girl, I tug on the blanket. “Sorry, sweetheart. Time to go.”
She mumbles incoherently, unmoving.
I sigh, pulling the blanket off her as the knocking at the door gets louder.
“Hold on!” I yell, causing the girl to groan louder. She looks ten times rougher than I do, and I’m pretty sure it’s because she drank twice as much as me. A vague memory of her downing shots of pink liquid fills my aching head.
She finally sits up, the blanket falling from her bare chest. I happily soak in the view for a few seconds before grabbing her dress from the floor and tossing it onto her lap.
“Time to go,” I repeat, sliding on my boxers.
I walk to the hotel door and glance through the peephole. Cursing when I see it’s Ian, I blow out an irritated breath before opening it.
“You were supposed to meet us downstairs half an hour ago,” he greets me, waltzing in.
“Please, come in,” I murmur sarcastically, closing the door.
“Tom is in the conference room.”
The movement from my bedroom catches his attention, and then Rachel emerges, dressed in her tight pink ensemble that looks painted on with her black heels hanging from her fingers.
“Are you sure you want me to leave? We can have a lot more fun,” she purrs, sliding her hand down my arm. She glances over her shoulder at Ian, a smile tipping up her lips. “He can stay if he wants.”
Ian cringes at the proposal, looking like he’s about to vomit over the concept of a three-way, making me chuckle.
I clasp his shoulder, eyes dancing with amusement. “It ain’t gay if the balls don’t touch, bro.”
He pales, brushing off my hand.
I snicker at his discomfort, aiming my attention back on the girl. “Sorry, Rachel. It was fun while it lasted though.”
Her head whips to me. “My name is Emily!”
My lips form into an O as she storms out of the room, leaving Ian and me alone.
“Really?” he doubts, lips forming a frown.
I make a face. “I thought her name was Rachel … or Brook.”
He stares dubiously at me, and I can’t tell if it’s because of the name blunder or the fact I didn’t deny the potential threesome she offered up. Would I have done it? Not with Ian, but I was open for just about anything that could get me off.
I shrug dismissively. “Anyway, I’ll be down in twenty. I need a shower. They still serving breakfast?”
“It’s almost noon, Dylan.”
“So?”
He rakes a palm down his face. “I get that you probably had a late night with Emily, but we’ve had this meeting set for over a week now. We agreed to talk to Tom about the new collaboration. The one we need because of you, might I add.”
I try not to put too much thought into his statement, already blaming myself for putting the whole band under fire. I had no clue the shit I did was going to reflect on them, but nonetheless it did.
“And we will,” I agree slowly, “after my shower.”
He shakes his head, looking away. “You always get like this when we’re away. The only time you’re ever grounded is back in Clinton. And last night at the club? What was that, dude?”
“What part? It’s all a bit … unclear.”
He says two words that brings back a heart-shaped face, and bad attitude to mind. “Ashton King.”
“That stuck up princess? She pissed me off.”
“You were an ass,” he counters. “Just because somebody called you out on it doesn’t mean you get to be a bigger one.”
“What’s the big deal?” I walk into my bedroom, grabbing some jeans and a T-shirt out of the dresser.
He follows me. “If you showed up on time to the meeting, you’d know what the big deal is.”
Why the fuck would it matter? I freeze mid-step at the suspicion. “Don’t tell me …”
“Yeah,” he deadpans. “She’s the person Tom’s making a deal with.”
I spin around. “He wants us to collaborate with her?” After she left the club, Ian smacked me upside the head and explained she’s a big deal in the country music scene. Why Tom would want us to work with her is beyond me.
“She’s a country singer,” I spit.
“It’s called a cross-over. Plenty of artists do them.”
“We’re not like other artists—”
“It’s not up for debate,” he informs me matter-of-factly. “We’ve already been through the basics, and those who did show up agree it’s a good move. She’s at the peak of her career, and the pairing would be good. It’s just for a song and a few shows.”
“But—”
“You know the rules, man,” he cuts me off, backing out of the room. “If you don’t make it to the meetings on time, the majority vote counts. You’re the only one who doesn’t like the idea. And be honest, man. You’re only against it because she’s not afraid to speak her mind and call you out.”
I press my lips together, jaw ticking. He thinks he knows everything about me so he can put in his two cents. That’s Ian. Always playing the savior when he’s sure somebody needs it.
He stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets. “I can see if the kitchen will cook you up some breakfast if you really want it. Maybe some pancakes will cure the hangover I’m sure you have. Tom is leaving tonight, and he wants to talk to you.”
Yay. Captain Kill Joy is here.
“Fine,” I relent bitterly, gripping my clothes a little too tightly in my hands. “Tell him I’ll be down soon.”
He stops at the door, looking back at me one last time, but he doesn’t say a word like I know he wants to. The disapproval in his eyes says plenty.
The conference room is off the
main lobby and away from the noise echoing in the dining hall where the hotel serves their meals. I can still smell everything my empty stomach craves, but I do as I’m told and go to the conference room instead like a good little puppet.
I plop down across from Tom Bennington, our manager since we signed with Indie Mass World Records. When he first started working for his friend’s company his hair was a darker brown, but now it’s speckled with grey despite him only being in his late forties. Ian insists it’s the stress from dealing with our constant crap, and I know he’s talking about me. It’s like watching the President age during his term.
“Dylan,” he greets, inspecting me with a disapproving expression on his face.
Not even five seconds in and I can hear the disappointment in his voice. I think that’s a record for me.
One of the staff brings in a plate of food, setting it in front of me. My stomach rumbles over the sweet smell of syrup that’s poured over the pancake stack.
“Boss man,” I reply curtly, cutting into them. I’m practically salivating without a care in the world over how Tom’s looking at me.
“So, what’s this about?” I ask, food in my mouth.
He blinks. “I’m sure your mother taught you better manners than that. Like not talking with food in your mouth. Or, I don’t know, not bad-mouthing women at clubs or in general.”
I swallow. “This is about Ashley?”
He sits up straighter. “It’s Ashton. Don’t pretend you don’t remember her name. She’s not one of your conquests to treat like shit and ask to leave in the morning. She is going to help this band.”
“She’s not even at our level!”
He leans forward and grabs my plate, standing up and dumping my food into the garbage can by the door.
He puts my empty plate back in front of me, a smug grin tugging on his lips as he sees me gaping back at him. “You’re right,” he agrees. “She’s above you. Her solo career has produced more record sales in her first year than your precious boy band did.”
“We’re not a boy band and you know it.”
He just shrugs, flattening his dress shirt before taking his seat again.
“And why the hell did you get rid of my breakfast?” I demand, shoving the plate away and leaning back, legs wide with my arms across my chest.
He leans his arms on the edge of the table. “I think it’s time you start seeing the consequences of your decisions. Instead of letting you get away with everything, it’s time to put our feet down. Don’t be mistaken with the luck you’ve had so far, Mr. Hilton. The label has no interest in playing silly games with selfish people.”
“So now I’m selfish?” I huff.
“That’s the tamest thing you’ve been called.”
Couldn’t argue with him there. The press has come up with some colorful nicknames for me over the years. Most of them are entertaining to me, even when I should be offended by them.
“Is that why I have to be get along with Ashton King? Because if I don’t I’ll be punished?”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “You should respect Ms. King because it’s the right thing to do. As long as you play nice, so will she. It’s as simple as that.”
I press my lips tightly together, knowing I have no say in the matter even if I argued. Back when we formed this band, we agreed on being a democracy. Majority vote wins, and if we don’t bother showing up, we don’t get a say.
As much as I think working with Ashton King is a bad idea, it’s not up to me. My hands are tied, and Tom made sure to double knot that bitch.
“Why her?” I find myself asking after a long period of silence.
He stands up, putting his hands in the pockets of his dress pants. “It’s simple, Dylan. She has a lot of press surrounding her right now. Press that will help boost Relentless with this collaboration. So don’t mess this up.”
Jaw ticking, I demand, “Why do you always insist I’ll be the one to mess things up for us? You know what this band means to me, Tom.”
“I just so happen to know that your ego means a lot more than the band these days.”
Before I can reply, to deny it, he walks out.
Who is he to tell me what’s most important in my life? Just because he runs the label that heightened my career doesn’t mean he control every aspect of my life.
Actually, that’s exactly what it means. Life is a bitch that way. Fame comes at a cost, and I sold my soul to the devil for it years ago. Despite not wanting to let him be right, I allow our conversation to soak in with the silence of the room consuming me.
“He doesn’t have to be right, you know,” Ian says from the doorway, his shoulder against the doorjamb.
Not wanting to have a heart-to-heart, I opt to change the subject. “I take it Kasey left since you’re here?”
His girlfriend, AKA the woman who made Ian a total pussy, had been traveling with us for the last few shows. Kasey Miller isn’t a bad chick. In fact, I like her. Not that I’d tell her that to her face, because I’ve already filled my quota of girl friends with Tessa taking the number one spot. By force, too, might I add. Between her and that fluffball cat she’s obsessed with, I don’t have room any other female friends.
His lips twitch. “She promised her sister she’d go to her last dance recital so she’s back in Vermont. Then her and her dad have plans.”
I just nod, acting interested.
“Dylan—”
My chair scrapes back. “I’m not in the mood, dude. We’re working with Ashton, I get it. I won’t screw it up for anyone.”
I attempt to walk out, but he blocks me. “Don’t be like this.”
“Like what?” I snap. “Like the person everybody seems to think I am? Selfish? Abrupt? Flakey?”
He rolls his eyes. “Maybe a bit dramatic,” he jokes, giving me his laidback, lopsided smile. “I don’t want to piss you off, bro. But you haven’t been acting right lately. It’s like you’re trying to ruin yourself.”
Knowing he isn’t going to let me through until we have a Full House moment, I settle against the wall with my arms on my chest and a bored expression on my face.
“You know, I recall when we had a spat very similar last fall,” I recall, eyeing him suspiciously.
His eyes flicker in recognition. “Is that your way of telling me that you’re acting this way because of a girl? Because I seem to recall your grievances toward my attention toward Kasey back then.”
He acts like ‘back then’ is ages ago, but it’s only been eight months. Their relationship sputtered from the start, yet he still got the girl in the end.
I chuckle. “You act like your attentions have changed. You’re still stuck on her.” Pussy whipped, I correct silently, knowing it won’t help if I say it out loud.
“Don’t avoid the question.”
“There’s no girl.”
“You’re right,” he chortles. “There’s a lot of them. Especially since we’ve been in LA.”
I can’t stop the grin from creeping on my lips. “What can I say? I like feasting on the local cuisine.”
He stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets. “I had a feeling you’d say something like that. Tom told me he was giving you a warning about behaving. If you stray too far from what’s expected—”
“And what is that?” I demand challengingly.
“Not being a dick for one.”
“And the others? We fucking made something of ourselves, Ian. Everything we have we earned. What’s wrong with embracing the life we worked our asses off to get?”
“We’ve talked about what it costs though,” he counters, stepping inside the room. “Dylan, you know what fame is like to the rest of us, and none of us want to see it consume you. The press make us out to be assholes, and the more you feed them shit to run in the magazines, the more our fans will start to have a different perception. Do you want that?”
Not for you guys. But for me? I don’t give a damn what story they run. None of them are like me. They all want to keep th
eir lives tame like it used to be, but what did they expect? When we signed with the label, we knew that we were going to make it. We had singles top the charts and sales skyrocket. As soon as we put ink to paper, our lives were never the same.
“I’m not like you guys,” I point out after a stretch of silence. “And eventually you guys are going to have to accept that.”
I shoulder past him when I’ve had enough.
“We know you’re not,” he calls as I saunter off toward the elevators.
I spin around to look at him, disgruntlement set into my permanent frown, eyes twitching at the idea of him trying to soften me.
He stays where he is, rather than stalking over to me. “But Tom and the label don’t know you like we do. They see what you do as a threat to not only our reputation, but theirs. Don’t take that lightly.”
It’s a warning that I’m not as untouchable as I think I am. If I don’t back down, everything I’m proud to flaunt will be taken away from me, and there won’t be anything to the name I earned.
There won’t be anything left of me.
Ashton
The plus side of having friends in LA means not having to stay at the hotels where paparazzi hang around digging for a scoop. And with the breakup stirring rumors everywhere, it’s best to lay low until something new comes along for them to attach to.
Of course, the something new happens to involve the douchebag from the bar. Dylan Hilton is everywhere, soaking up the attention any way he can get it. If I didn’t think that my label had a point, I wouldn’t willingly work with Dylan or the band. Which is a shame, because the rest of the guys seem decent from what I hear. Not that I’ve met the drummer or main guitarist. But I know that this opportunity will help the press get over what Rhys and I used to be. Maybe I can finally make a name for myself that isn’t attached to him.
A girl could dream.
“Hey, girl,” Teagan chirps, throwing a towel at me as I step off the treadmill. My forehead is slick with sweat from my morning run, and my breath is ragged from the way I pushed myself into overdrive.
I learned a long time ago that running was my escape. The harder I pushed, the further my mind was from the press. This isn’t my first go around with the leeches hooking themselves to my life, and it wouldn’t be the last.
The Moments We Share Page 2
